


Abreaction

by Scythe_of_Starlight



Category: ALTER EGO (Visual Novel)
Genre: Catharsis, Couch Cuddles, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hugs, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Reader-Insert, References to Depression, Romance, Romantic Fluff, mild existential angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 09:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26969452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scythe_of_Starlight/pseuds/Scythe_of_Starlight
Summary: The Wanderer returns to that monochrome study, downtrodden and melancholic.
Relationships: Es/Wanderer, Es/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Abreaction

**Author's Note:**

> Been a few good month since my last fic! Inspiration finally struck at the moment of Alter Ego Complex's release... and the realization that I'm too broke to buy it...
> 
> I hope you enjoy this!

Darkness.

Your footsteps echo softly amidst the seemingly endless darkness, with the clicking of your shoes against the tiles being the only signs to indicate that you're on the ground at all. You've walked down this strip of the void many a times before, and momentarily wonder when you'll stop.

Music.

It's a simple piano piece that graces your ears, one with rolling notes up and down the keyboard with the grace of a professional, accompanied only with the melancholic vocals of it's female singer and consenting silence in the air. It's a song without lyrics and one you never seem to get tired of.

Butterflies.

Every now and then the cyan glow of a fluttering butterfly will bless your presence to illuminate the world just enough to let you make out the walls. They are no bigger than that of the insect, yet at the same time, they seem more fragile. More delicate than any other creature you've ever known. On occasion, you reach out and a butterfly will glide on to meet the tip of your index finger. Almost like a hello.

Words.

Under the brim of your hat lie words, frozen and eternal in framed bubbles that pop unlike that of true bubbles. Instead it's with a poke of your finger and a scratch, as if it were being ripped from the pages from whence the words were plucked from. You're well versed in the names and faces of those who first committed such words to those sheets of paper, and you're not the only one either.

You continue your journey down the expanse, watching them drift by. Sometimes you read them in your head, either with your own voice or with the vocal inflections of what you envisioned their speakers to have.

"My cowardly pride and haughty shame." 

"Questioning myself endlessly..."  
"But a dream within a dream?"  
"Like a book." "Who am I then?"  
"I have no interest beyond myself."   
"Hope cannot be eluded forever."

Some words don't resonate with you as much as they would in the face of someone else.

"I often wonder, "Why?" "How?""  
"Holiness is an obligation."   
"This low rank chafed his pride."  
"I thought nothing. How can I?"  
"Mine has been a life of such shame."  
"Darkness there and nothing more."  
"I'm not worthy..." "For myself and no other."

Others you swear were mysteriously gathered from your own mind, only to be shown bare in black and white for specifically you to witness and face the reality of.

"What's the acronym of crime?"   
"Gong... gong..." "I'm not needed by anyone, anywhere."  
"The history of his first love."  
"Nobody really loves themselves."   
"I search as I walk through the wind."  
"I'll answer for myself and others."  
"O fetus, O fetus, why do you squirm?"

And that fine either way. What else are words used for if not to communicate both sentiments and facts? Huh, you think, that sounds like something she would say.

And who - besides the ever absent, ever observing Ego Rex - might 'she' be? Well, she's the only other resident in the monochromatic little world:

Es.

The page turns.

Through the door you instinctively located, the handle turns in your twisting grip and the small room she calls home is open to you once again.

It's a small room, lined on the wall behind and around the furthest most wall are shelves, all packed to the brim with books. In a greyscale world such as this, each and every one is somewhere between the spectrum of black and white. This one behind her head of raven black hair, for example, is more whitish than the one next to her neatly done side braid. That book over there, for instance, definitely edging more towards a charcoal shade than the book in her gloved hands. And yet, despite the colorless atmosphere, they always manage to bring their own shades of life to the equation. Especially with the color of the piano's cascade enveloping your surroundings.

Who is playing that piano anyway?

Es continues to read, casually seated from within her couch as you allow yourself a second to readjust from the darkness of the hallway, those silver eyes never once breaking from their journey through the writings the author has laid forth for her. You know that she knows you're here. Sometimes you can't help but think that you can catch her sneaking glances at you when you walk around. Whether it's a sense of shyness from her part or a sense of paranoia from you is yet to be determined. From either of you.

The two of you could remain in this comfortable music-aided silence if you wished, Es never struck you as the type of person who would willfully make the first move unless prompted. Even at her angriest she would only begin to express it outwardly after you made a motion to properly greet her, however hesitant you were in doing so, knowing that you were definitely _In For It_ that time. Though her sadness was always a little more apparent, if only noticeable by how her keen eyes would only pretend to read through the pages in half-hearted, lackluster fashion.

Yet no matter what time you make your visits, you still haven't unlocked the mystery of her sleep schedule...

Overlooking the silver trimmings of her darkened tie(?), your gaze floats down to the cover of her chosen book against the modest library of others she could have chosen instead. Inching closer, you attempt to peek at the title.

"Hello there."

Until the sound of her voice causes your very muscles to freeze at her sudden acknowledgement of your movements. With wide eyes you step backwards, hoping to do so in a way that doesn't make you seem too much like a stalker.

"It's alright," Es reassures with that very slight smile she often greets you with, "I should've said hello when you first walked in. Did I startle you?"

You give a ready shake of the head. It's not exactly a lie anyway, she didn't startle you too badly at least...

"Thank goodness," she sighs, "though I must admit, you seem quite sluggish today. More so than usual." Es cradles her book against her chest as she speaks, the side showing is the wrong side for the title to be on. "I don't mean to pry so stop me if I am but, could something be the matter? Something on your mind perhaps?"

In truth, you never understood why she felt the need to step on so many eggshells with you. At times Es was the only person you could relyably confide in, without the worry of recieving harsh scorn for your emotional state or unsolicited advice as to how your problems should be solved. But that being said, there have been things on your mind... too many in fact.

In the face of your apparent melancholy, Es takes the careful steps necessary to rise from her chair and into the much longer couch sitting against the wall beside you, adjacent to the wall of books. The light from the window shines, painting the atmosphere with an irreplaceable warmth.

"We haven't done this in a while but," the librarian said, outstretching a hand on the couch cushion next to her, "if something is bothering you, feel free to tell me all about it."

As ironic as it sounds, perhaps it's you who has been walking on too many eggshells with her. With a sigh, you relent and sit on the long grey couch with Es at your side. After some maneuvering and encouragement from Es, you are resting your weary head securely on the girl's lap. You settle in, shifting a bit to ensure that you're not too heavy for her legs.

"There's no need to worry about me," she softly said, putting a gloved hand on your head to card her fingers through your hair, "I'll be more than happy to take the burden off whatever you're feeling."

Despite only intending to blink, the sensation of touch - of finally being touched by someone - was sending you into a drowsy haze of relaxation and safety, it made it rather difficult to even remember what questions were weighing you down so stubbornly. A tinge or more of heat could be felt rising up into your cheeks for every round Es makes through your locks.

That charmingly small smile on Es' lips blessed your sight just like it always has, "Or I'm perfectly fine if you just want to stay like this," her eyes look down at you with all the warmth in the world. She breaths a sigh as your eyes flutter close, "Whatever you wish is fine by me."

Behind your eyelids lie that same pool of darkness you've known all your life. It seems as hopelessly vast as it does extremely claustrophobic, the manner in which the pendulum swings forever depends on your mood that day. But with Es at your side - or more aptly: letting you rest in her lap - that familiar darkness made way for the silent emergence of words that are segmented and shattered behind black frames, words that are wholly your own. They advance smoothly in your mind as if you were walking down an endless corridor, lit only by the occasional flickers of courage.

And like butterflies, they flap their wings to an invisible rhythm, leaving your tongue with a easy grace.

"I don't know why..." you begin with a croak, "but things only seem to be getting worse."

The librarian makes no move to inquire or question, waiting instead for your unprompted continuation.

"It's everything, from bad to worse, every aspect of my life seems dedicated to ruining what little good I ever thought I had. No one seems to be listening to me about the concerns I have, or the solutions I want to bring to the table. I'm talked over, yelled at, ignored, or just plain forgotten about by time I leave the room. And these are the people that are supposed to have my back, they're supposed to be my friends, my family."

You only noticed that your hands were clenched into tightly held fists from how Es had put her free gloved one on your shoulder, inviting you to release the mounting tension.

"Listen," you quickly preface, " it's not like I want to create rifts between us! Far from it!" the flustered blush on your face then wonders if that's true. "It's actually the opposite, I don't want to lose them! The world at large seems intent on becoming the worst planet in our galaxy, the absolute last thing I need is for them to abandon me over something so petty! I swear I can't understand people... whenever I want to include myself in the conversations, I only ever get shot down...!" 

The blush had assuredly ripened into a pitch red anger. Their vitriol, their rage, their persecution, and your view on all of it swirled and warped into something ugly. Malformed and unrecognizable, whatever well intentions anyone had at the start subsequently and very quickly rotted into the violent storm of disappointment and frustration it became.

"To think that these are who I spent so much time with. These are who my friends and family are. It's not fair..." you heave a breath, "it's just not fair..."

Then, in the wreckage of what once was there, all that lie in the ashes is the clawing regret.

Sobs take over your strength as the full weight of what you've done sink in like a bad idea always does. It's painful. More painful than the tears slipping from the corners of your eyes can ever hope to rectify on their own. But... with Es as your side...

"I'm sorry," she whispered down to you, "I'm sorry I couldn't have been there to help set any records straight..." her eyes well with an empathetic sorrow. "I'm also sorry that I can't offer much in the way solutions."

"No please don't be..." you sigh, "it's not your fault in the least. The fact that you're listening already means a lot to me." A spared breath was saved for a mumble under you hoped to conceal, "I feel like you're the only one who listens to me."

Es had clearly caught the message and turned her gaze away, shifting you in her lap as she tried to steady herself. "I'm flattered, truly," she said with a blush, "but even if this is a testiment of just how ignorant I am about the going ons of your world, I just can't convince myself that your world is truly so horrible."

"Huh?"

"You exist," Es said with an unshakable certainty. "Even as angry as you are at those who have wronged you, your compassion still worries for them. To me, it seems to be that your anger is born of worry, proving your pureness at heart. This world is also the only one that can inhabit our species, and I'd much rather that we met somewhere where we'd be able to survive in. However much we like it or not, our only place to live is on Earth."

Despite the bitterness that swirled in your mind, "Yeah..." you concede, "you're right."

"I know you're a wonderful person, and I have no doubt that this world still has a lot of good going for it if you're still able to exist within it."

The vague shaping of someone else in your life blends in over where Es is seated. Perhaps that someone is filtered in the back drop of a clear blue sky wearing a kind smile. Maybe they are similarly cloaked in the darkness of their own room with the weight of their own emotions seeming seconds from crushing them as they work to comfort you. Or it could be that you're hallucinating, merely think of whoever else you wished to hear such sentiments from.

"And not just that," Es continues, "but was it not a good thing that you and I were able to meet, in a world as supposedly awful as this?"

The very notion was enough to send an electric current through your nerves, shocking the meloncholy right out of you. "Of course it's a good thing that I met you!" you proclaim, "There's no one else I would've rather met in this place, Es! You helped me to realize who I am, you are the only light of my life some days and nights, and I can't bear the thought of forgetting you..." the gripping anxiety forces your compulsions to swivel you further into the librarian's lap, nuzzling into her in search of a reaffirmation of safety and comfort. The words come forth before your conscious mind has a chance to stop them. "You're my one and only, Es..."

Though your own movements may have masked it, you swore you felt the girl's heart jolt at your honesty. It was the closest thing to a confession as you could muster, even accidentally. "Then if that's the case," she began softly, "surely this life of ours can't be too terrible if we're able to admit such things." With a smile that seemed more of a radiant star, "You're also my one and only, dear Wanderer," she beamed.

Her affection was something that would prove strong enough as to render you speechless sometimes. Her boundless curiosity combined with an ability for contemplative introspection that could put a modern fiction author to shame, turns out to have been the perfect combination of traits to sweep you off your feet. As your stunned self lay without a sound, Es carefully maneuvered her gloved fingers to wipe the a fleeing tear from your cheek. "A-ah..." you stammer, as if freed from a spell. "Thank you," you say beneath a deep blush.

"There's no need to thank me," Es said, "hearing out your troubles is all I've wanted to do. Not just to be sure that I am still me and that you are, indeed, still you. But in that, this is the least I could do to repay all that you've done for me. I often worry that I'm too clingy..."

"You're not," you affirm, quite firmly. "If it were possible I'd be more than happy to stay with you here forever." The thought had crossed your mind ever since the girl had made an off-hand comment in relation to Frankenstein's Monster. It really would be nice if you and she could switch places, if only for 24 hours. She would be able to be freed from this greyscale prison of a study and a endlessly dark corridor, and you would be freed from the living nightmare of your own misery as your uncaring world continued to burn itself into a physical manifestation of Hell. Yet, would that really be best, the voice in your head softly rebutted. To cast the naive and innocent Es into a world as merciless as your's, while you mindlessly toil away your eternity in the same books in total isolation? Unable to help - or even know - if Es is in serious danger of being taken advantage of... or worse? Your grip on her waist tightens at the myriad of morbidity that invade your thoughts. "I want to stay like this..." you exhale, "...forever."

Reciprocating your warmth, Es wraps her arms around you, effortlessly calming the whirlwind of anxiety that circled in your weary head. She slowly guides you back down into her lap, always mindful to remain as physically connected to you as possible. "I do too," she murmurs lovingly, "we both know that wish of our's can't come true."

"I..." a series of images flash in your mind: your obligations, responsibilities, the people you need, the things you can't delay. Your life scrolls before your eyes, "I know..." you confess.

"But that doesn't mean you can't rest here with me for a while, right...?"

"Yeah..." with a scoff and renewed tranquility, "you're right," you drift to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Es is best girl and don't you forget to visit her today!


End file.
